


Places of Exile

by shadeshifter



Series: Finding Home [6]
Category: Angel: the Series, Criminal Minds, Highlander: The Series, NCIS, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeshifter/pseuds/shadeshifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU after Supernatural season 5. There's a civil war in Heaven and both Castiel and Raphael seek the allegiance of the only other archangel left in existence. Tony and his team get drawn into the conflict.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little bit of setup to whet your appetites.

(Banner by [TouchoftheWind](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TouchoftheWind/pseuds/TouchoftheWind))

 

“ _We all carry within us our places of exile, our crimes, and our ravages. But our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to fight them in ourselves and in others._ ” – Albert Camus

-

Methos looked up sharply when he heard knocking at his front door. There was no sense of an Immortal and anyone on his team would have announced themselves or have simply broken in. He placed his gun in easy reach on the table in the hallway and opened the door to a handsome dark-haired, green-eyed man. Kronos was definitely getting predictable.

“Brother,” Kronos greeted, stepping into his space. Methos allowed himself to be backed into his apartment. With Kronos, he had learned to pick his battles.

“Needed a new suit?” Methos asked drolly, looking over the new body Kronos was inhabiting. If nothing else, he had good taste.

“Does it meet your approval?” Kronos asked, resting his hands on Methos’ hips.

“Does it matter?”

Kronos mock-frowned.

“And here I went through all the trouble of dressing up for the occasion. I even found one no one would miss.”

Methos raised an eyebrow, sure that there was more to it, some benefit to Kronos, and Kronos smirked.

“Trust me,” Kronos said, leaning in so that his breath ghosted over Methos’ ear. Methos closed his eyes – in capitulation, supplication, longing; he wasn’t sure. “I’m doing the world a favour.”

“I know better,” Methos replied as he kicked the door shut behind them.

-

Tony was relaxed back into the couch with Aaron’s arm settled across his shoulders and Jack seated between them. It was, Tony decided, quite possibly the most domestic he’d ever been. It was a little scary that he didn’t find the prospect utterly terrifying. Instead, he looked forward to these days in as much as he did whatever time he and Aaron could scrounge to be alone together.

Aaron glanced at Tony and smiled, even as he gave Tony’s shoulder a light squeeze, and Tony knew his thoughts were obvious to Aaron. But Tony was getting used to being an open book, both with his team and Aaron, and maybe it wasn’t so bad having someone know him, even the parts he didn’t want to see the light of day, and still accept him.

“You know,” Tony said softly so as not to disturb Jack, who leaned forward, eagerly watching the screen as Julie Andrews sang about feeding birds. “They didn’t tell the kids half of what they were going to do, just so their reactions would be genuine.” Aaron laughed quietly.

Tony was glad that this was something he could share with the both of them. Aaron, because he knew what it said about Tony’s childhood that the best thing about it had been films, and Jack, because it gave them a point of connection that Tony’s lack of proper childhood usually meant he lacked. Especially when the only other thing he had in common with Jack was losing their mothers at a young age. Despite all the grief Aaron gave himself, he was a good father.

“Something wrong?” Aaron asked when Tony glanced at his phone for the fourth time. Tony shook his head, unable to verbalise the feeling of nervous anticipation he’d had all day. It felt like there was some unnamed pressure bearing down on him, like the heaviness in the air just before a storm, and it left him feeling restless.

-

Lindsey shoved the Carnyss demon against the wall, smiling tightly in satisfaction when his head hit the brick with a resounding thud, even if the horns and ridges absorbed most of the impact.

“What do you want?” the demon demanded.

“Answers.”

“I don’t know anything,” the demon insisted and Lindsey shoved him against the wall again, hand at his throat.

“Then you’re not useful to me,” Lindsey told him, voice measured and eyes narrowed. He didn’t have time to do this with any finesse, not with the portents he’d been getting.

“Fine, fine,” he demon conceded, going limp in Lindsey’s grip. “I don’t know any specifics, just that there’s something going down.”

“What?”

“Something big. There’s tensions mounting on both sides,” the demon said, eyes darting around as though one of those sides was going to take him out just for daring to breathe a word of it.

“Slayers?” Lindsey asked, frowning. He tried to keep an eye on what they and Angel were up to, just in case, but he hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary recently.

“Bigger than that,” the demon said, a shiver running through him. He glanced upward and looked at Lindsey significantly.

“Angels,” Lindsey said, deep in thought. He released his grip and let the demon run.

-

Dean kicked his feet up on the coffee table and settled back with a beer, still a little unsure about how he felt about having a place of his own. Even if it had been almost two years since he settled in. He’d just taken a swallow when he heard the rustling of feathers.

“Hey Cas,” he said without bothering to look. “What’s up?”

“The roof,” Cas answered automatically. Dean laughed. He really should know better.

“What’s going on?” he asked, turning to look at Cas who was now staring at the ceiling. Cas lowered his gaze to look back at Dean, expression serious.

“The angels seek an angel in exile.”

“Like Gabriel?” Dean asked, still a little down about his death, because even if Gabriel had been annoying and a dick, Dean had to admit he had style.

“No,” Cas said and paused. Dean wondered if that was all he was going to get before Cas took a deep breath and sat next to Dean, eyes wide and expression grave. “The angel did not voluntarily seek exile as Gabriel did.”

“He fell?” Dean prodded. Cas was usually reticent about business involving angels, but about this he was unusually so.

“No,” Cas said, shaking his head. “He was stripped of his power and cast down to Earth as punishment.”

“Punishment for what?”

“Choosing sides.”

“He chose Lucifer?” Dean asked, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up on Earth if that was the case.

“No,” Cas said again and now Dean was beyond confused. Surely, choosing the side of the good guys, who won the war, wouldn’t have necessitated punishment.

“Who was the angel?” Dean asked, hoping to get some sort of information that would make this all clear in his head.

“Azrael.”


	2. Chapter 2

Methos lay, sprawled in bed, with Kronos’ arm draped across his stomach. He felt sapped and sated; pleasantly tingly where his Quickening was easing away bruises and bites. Kronos nuzzled at the crook of his neck before biting down on the sensitive skin and Methos moaned. The mark wouldn’t last, not even a whole minute, but Methos understood the impetus behind it. Kronos always had been possessive.

The Scooby doo theme song started playing from somewhere next to the bed. The arm around him tightened, long fingers digging into the flesh of his hip, and Methos hesitated before reaching for his phone.

“Baines,” he answered. 

“Dean’s got a new case for us,” Tony told him brusquely.

“He say what it’s about?” Methos asked, glancing at Kronos.

“He wanted to wait until we were all together. Said it was sensitive information.”

Methos frowned before absently murmuring his agreement and hanging up. 

Kronos started mouthing the crook where jaw met neck while one hand gripped Methos’ wrist, pinning it to the mattress, and the other gripped his thigh, pulling him closer. The muscles in Methos’ belly quivered and he wrenched free to gather his clothing before he was tempted to give in. Kronos always had been persuasive.

The boxer shorts and T-shirt were easy enough to find, but the jeans were somewhere across the room and he couldn’t even begin to remember where his jacket had ended up. Kronos rose out of bed with Methos, an unyielding presence behind him, all tightly leashed heat and strength and power. 

“Stay,” Kronos insisted. Demanded. Commanded. “They are mortals with little lives and little problems.”

He pulled Methos against him, arm coming to wrap securely around his chest even as his hand dipped beneath the waistband of Methos’ boxer shorts. Methos’ gasp was a small, reluctant thing and he gritted his teeth.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said, pulling out of Kronos’ grasp and yanking on his jeans quickly. He couldn’t explain to Kronos that these mortals were important to him. Wouldn’t explain it either, not when Kronos might take undue interest. “I’ll be back later.”

Kronos narrowed his eyes and Methos couldn’t even begin to guess what he was scheming, didn’t have the time to try and parse Kronos’ motives. Kronos slipped a hand into Methos’ hair, fingertips pressing into Methos’ skull as he pulled him closer. Then Kronos’ lips met his in a hard, bruising kiss. Methos gripped Kronos’ shoulders, holding him close, as he bit at Kronos’ bottom lip until he tasted blood and, beneath it, ash.

“Just like old times,” Methos said, smirk curling his mouth as he pulled away for a final time.

-

Dean folded his arms as he waited for Adam to arrive. Tony sat on the couch, watching him with patient interest, and Dean wasn’t too sure how he would react when he found out all of it. Because knowing about ghosts and werewolves and demons was one thing, but the whole battle between Heaven and Hell was another entirely. Especially when the angels were even worse dicks than the demons.

Lindsey was frowning, looking at some distant point, and Dean wondered how much he knew about what was going on, because for all Lindsey seemed to know about the shady underbelly of the supernatural, he hadn’t ventured much about the so-called good guys.

Adam finally arrived, in wrinkled clothes and dishevelled hair and Dean couldn’t help but take a moment to smirk and clap him on the shoulder. In the last few years he hadn’t seen Adam take much of an interest in anyone, though Dean couldn’t blame him when he found out Adam’s last girlfriend died of cancer.

“Hey Cas,” Dean called, wanting to get on with the meeting quickly. There was the rustling of wings and he didn’t miss the way Adam tensed or the way Lindsey’s eyes narrowed and his hand made an abortive move for a weapon. Tony stared a little wide-eyed as Cas appeared at Dean’s side.

“Azrael,” Cas said.

“Right,” Dean added. “There’s apparently a Heavenly headhunt going down for Azrael.”

“Angels,” Tony said a little weakly. “They’re real?”

Dean nodded.

“You did not tell me you’d already found him,” Castiel said and it took Dean a moment to follow his gaze to where Adam was standing, arms folded.

“What?” Adam asked, brows drawn down in confusion. 

“You are Azrael,” Cas said, and when that didn’t get a response, he turned to Dean. “He is Azrael.”

Dean nodded, because Cas didn’t lie, not to him. He turned back to Adam who was still looking sincere and confused and he just didn’t know, because Adam was the best liar of all them and that was some pretty stiff competition.

“Hold on,” Tony said. “Angels?”

“Angels are real. They’re dicks. Except for Cas. Most of them don’t really like humans. God’s gone on walkabout, so there’s no one to send them to the naughty step when they act out,” Dean summed up.

“Angels are dicks?” Tony repeated, still faintly, as though he was worried about blaspheming. Dean sometimes forgot that Tony had had a fairly religious upbringing even if he no longer followed those traditions. Finding out angels were real always seemed to take people right back to those childhood beliefs.

Dean and Lindsey nodded together.

“At least the bad guys aren’t self-righteous,” Lindsey said, rubbing absently at his wrist. He frowned. “Usually aren’t as self-righteous,” he corrected a moment later.

“And Adam is Azrael?” Tony asked. Lindsey turned to Adam and raised an eyebrow even as Adam glared at them.

“No,” Adam said at the same time as Cas’s “Yes.”

“Maybe he doesn’t remember?” Dean suggested, because he did believe Cas, but he didn’t want to push Adam, not he wasn’t sure he wasn’t lying. Not when he wasn’t sure Adam didn’t have very good reasons to lie.

“They would have wanted him to remember,” Cas said firmly and Dean suppressed a shiver. He’d seen Cas after re-indoctrination and that was when Cas was on their side. He didn’t want to know what they did to an angel they thought needed punishing. He had the feeling that the angels’ idea of mercy wasn’t anything remotely like his own.

“I’m nobody’s angel,” Adam said, something dark and haunted lingering in his expression, before he turned and walked out.

-

Tony was up and out the door a moment after Adam had left. Lindsey took a moment to study Castiel. He’d suspected, given the name and Dean’s near miss with the apocalypse a few years before, but it was interesting to have it confirmed. 

“I will speak with him,” Castiel said, making for the door, and Dean immediately stopped him with a hand to his chest. Dean gripped his shoulder with the other hand and drew in close.

“Let Tony handle it,” he said. “I don’t think Adam’s going to react too well to you telling him what to do at the moment.”

“He is in danger,” Castiel insisted and Lindsey stood to follow Tony because if nothing else was true, and Lindsey was still making up his mind about a lot of it, Castiel was right, Adam was still in danger. He’d long suspected Adam was more than he claimed, but he had to admit he’d never considered this.

“I know,” Lindsey heard Dean say, “but he’s not alone.”

Lindsey found Tony and Adam arguing in hushed voices on the pavement outside. He paused, assessing the way Adam was shifting from folded arms to balanced stance and balled fists. Tony was shifting from careful, measured movements to empathic gestures and flared nostrils. He was just about to poke Adam in the chest when Lindsey decided it was time to interrupt.

“Hey,” Lindsey said, resting a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “One of us needs to find out from that angel what’s going on and, as someone who used to consort with demons, I call ‘not it’.”

Tony stared at him a moment, assessing him, before he nodded briefly and went back inside. Lindsey looked at Adam who was still glaring, jaw set stubbornly.

“Talk to me,” Lindsey said, settling against the wall and not looking at Adam.

“I’m not the angel he’s looking for,” Adam told him firmly, joining Lindsey, though he kept his arms folded.

“Okay.”

Adam’s glare intensified.

“I don’t need you to humour me,” Adam snarled and Lindsey shrugged.

“The way I figure it, whoever or whatever you are, Azrael is long gone,” he said, because sometimes there was no going back, whether you were at fault or not. Whether you wanted to or not. There was a lot of darkness in Adam’s past and that was something Lindsey could sympathise with, and sometimes the weight of that buried what came before.

“I can’t be who he’s looking for,” Adam said, suddenly looking tired and ancient.

“He doesn’t know who he’s looking for,” Lindsey scoffed and Adam smirked a little.

“I think they have apps for that, these days.”

Lindsey laughed as he imagined the angel on Grindr and Dean’s reaction to that and it didn’t take long for Adam to join him.

-

Tony was frustrated. Beyond frustrated. Adam hadn’t been entirely himself for weeks now, not since DC, but Tony had let it slide because Adam was stubborn and secretive on the best of days. Besides, his secrets had never put anyone in danger before, had never put Adam in danger before. Now that the situation was different, Tony didn’t know how to have his back or cover his weak spots, because he didn’t know what they were. None of them did. And what they did know was way out of Tony’s league.

On the other hand, there was a part of him that wished that Kate were alive, just so he could introduce her to an honest-to-god angel to see her reaction.

He stopped short when he heard the sound of metal on metal. He and Dean barely even needed to glance at each other before they were on their way out the door together. Castiel was close on their heels with a strange silver blade in his hands. They found Adam fighting off one man, while Lindsey appeared to be losing to a woman.

“Told you angels were dicks,” Dean said before he grabbed the woman by the shoulder and spun her before punching her hard in the face. He winced and shook out his hand while she barely looked dazed. Castiel stabbed her through the heart before she could recover. 

She dropped to the ground and Tony followed Dean and Lindsey when they backed away. There was a bright flash of light and Tony was more than a little shocked at the proof she was angel left behind in the imprint of wings splayed out from her body. Adam knocked his angel down, sword drawn back as he prepared to strike.

“Azrael,” the angel said in supplication, hands reaching out, just as the blade pierced his heart.

“You should have left me in peace,” Adam growled just before there was a bright burst of light and Tony had to close his eyes.

“Azrael,” Castiel began and how weird was it that Dean’s Cas was actually an angel and, oh god, what did that mean for all the assumptions Tony had made about them and their relationship. He was going to Hell.

“Don’t start with me,” Adam snarled and Castiel automatically ducked his head. Did that mean Adam, or Azrael at least, was higher up the pecking order than Castiel? Had he been ordering an archangel around and assigning him to do menial jobs? Did archangels really like things like beer and perusing people’s Facebook profiles?

“This isn’t Cas’s fault,” Dean argued and Adam’s glare snapped to him. For a moment, it wasn’t difficult to believe Adam was some sort of avenging angel, before he sighed and his expression smoothed out and it was just Adam again, the laidback tech nerd who happened to know sword fighting. Somehow, that was scarier.

“We need to get somewhere safe and plan our next move,” Lindsey told them, apparently unfazed.


	3. Chapter 3

“Right,” Tony said. “A safe place. Anyone got any ideas?” 

His suggestions were going to be fairly limited and he had no idea what the practical scope of an angel’s powers were, so he’d have to rely on the others for more useful information. At least until he was up to speed with this latest curve ball.

They couldn’t stay here, at least, not with the bodies. Not even if it meant fleeing a crime scene. He’d have to find some way of explaining it to Crawford in a way that made sense. Telling your boss that you had to kill some angels because they were after one of your agents, who incidentally also used to be an angel, while you were trying to run based on intel you got from another agent’s angel boyfriend just wasn’t going to cut it. 

“I can go to ground in an hour,” Adam said. “They won’t be able to find me.”

Tony wasn’t sure what it said about Adam’s paranoia that he was able to go on the run on such short notice, even from angels, but he was sure it wasn’t anything good. But if Adam did that then it pretty much guaranteed his life as part of the team was over. Tony didn’t imagine angels gave up very easily and who knew how long it would take to wait them out.

“No,” Tony said. “We need to stick together, figure out what’s going on and how to stop it. We can’t do that separated.”

Adam looked reluctant. Clearly, he was used to running. Had done so, it seemed, for much longer than 50 years. As an angel, or ex-angel, or whatever the truth was, he’d probably been running for thousands of years and Tony wasn’t sure his mind could actually comprehend that.

“We’re all safer if I go,” Adam tried to argue and Tony could see how Adam might believe that, he really could, especially when it was obvious Adam was worried about them, but it didn’t make it the best plan or even the most likely to succeed. 

“Raphael will likely hunt them down and torture them for information about your whereabouts,” Castiel said bluntly. And that definitely didn’t make Tony feel any better about the whole situation.

“I vote for the scenario that doesn’t end with us thoroughly traumatised and probably dead,” Tony said decisively.

“Bobby’s,” Dean said suddenly. “We can use his panic room.”

“It is shielded from demons, not angels,” Castiel said. Dean shrugged.

“We should be able to make a few modifications. Bobby won’t mind,” he said. “Too much.”

“Very well,” Cas said, reaching out to touch both Dean and Adam before they both disappeared. Tony opened his mouth to say something, but Cas had already appeared to whisk him and Lindsey away as well. They reappeared in a dusty living room, surrounded be stacks of books and strange herbs Tony couldn’t even begin to guess at. 

“Hey Bobby,” Dean called out. “We need to use your panic room.”

“What have you got yourself into now, boy?” a gruff voice asked, followed by an even gruffer man entering the room. 

“Angel war, apocalypse,” Dean answered with a grin. “You know how it is.”

The two men embraced, the affection between them obvious, before Castiel interrupted.

“We must hurry.”

“You know where it is,” Bobby told him, with a gesture further into the house, and Tony nodded quickly to Bobby in appreciation before following Dean down a set of steps that lead to a large iron door. Dean turned the wheel quickly and pulled, grunting with effort, before the door swung open. 

“Haven’t had cause to use it in a while,” Bobby said with a look at Dean that spoke volumes, one Tony knew intimately, not only from receiving it from his own superiors, but from giving it to his team as well. The look that lamented what absolute trouble-magnets they were.

-

“Now, does one of you idjits want to tell me what’s going on?” Bobby asked when they were all in the panic room. And what a motley crew they were, from the tense man with a rather impressive glare standing apart from the group to the two men in suits who fairly screamed law enforcement to him. He knew Dean had been working for the FBI, had run enough checks to make sure the offer was legitimate and not some kind of trap, but it was still another thing entirely seeing it right in front of him.

“The angels think he’s Azrael,” Dean said, gesturing to tall, skinny and glaring. “They want him back.”

“Is he?” Bobby asked, because he wanted to know what he needed to be prepared to protect Dean from. Dean and the suits looked at each other uneasily for a moment and there was definitely something going on there, especially from the looks they then shot to Skinny.

“Yes,” Castiel said, bypassing all the nuances of the conversation. Skinny didn’t object, which seemed to surprise the group even more, he simply folded his arms and glared harder. So, a contentious issue, clearly.

“Couldn’t just drop by for a beer, could you?” Bobby muttered and Dean grinned.

“Where would be the fun in that?”

Bobby shook his head. He was glad, though, that Dean was clearly happy, that he could smile like that again, that this team of his had provided him with whatever he’d needed to move on from Sam. He didn’t know what was more miraculous, that Dean was part of a team or that it actually seemed to be working, and working well.

“We should put up some sigils,” one of the suits said and there was something about him that put Bobby on edge. He’d have to keep his eye on them and hope, for Dean’s sake, that nothing came of it.

“Bobby, can you explain angels to DiNozzo while he gets you up to speed?” Dean asked, looking at one of the suits, head tilted in question. The one who hadn’t suggested sigils nodded and Dean relaxed, already turning to get on with the job. The last time Bobby had seen Dean react like that to anyone, with implicit trust even as he tried to anticipate orders, was John Winchester. DiNozzo had better be worth it or there was a gun full of buckshot by the door and a lot full of places no one would think to look just outside.

Bobby sighed, removing his cap and running a hand over his head before he replaced it. Whatever else happened, this was definitely going to be interesting.

-

Lindsey glanced side-long at Adam, trying to guess how he was dealing with all of this, but it was impossible to tell. Adam worked quickly and methodically to paint the symbols on the walls, his familiarity with them obvious. Lindsey worked a little slower, because, even though he was familiar with Enochian symbols, these symbols in their particular configurations were new to him. 

He tried to think of something to say other than platitudes like ‘it’ll be alright’ and ‘we’ll get through this’ because they both knew better. He tried to think of what Angel might have told one of his little crew, but that didn’t sound any better and Angel had mostly been bluffing considering how many of that little crew got killed. 

Finally, he sighs and just gets on with the job, though he’s gratified to realise Adam relaxes a little when he realises Lindsey isn’t going to push it. They’ve all got secrets, and maybe while having been an archangel is a little bigger than most, it’s not really all that different in practice. 

“When this is done, I’m getting you drunk and you’re telling me if Dan Brown had the truth of it,” Lindsey said. “It’s been seriously bugging me.”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Adam told him and Lindsey couldn’t tell from the smirk if Adam meant it or was just teasing. Either way, he was glad things were at least a little back to normal between them and grinned.

“Almost finished,” Dean said, painting a streak of red across the wall.

“They will suffice,” Castiel agreed from where he worked beside Dean. Lindsey still had no idea if they were obliviously into each other or just not big on PDA. He was about to ask Adam if angels could even be that way inclined when everything erupted into chaos. 

An angel appeared in the room, moving quickly to smudge the still drying sigils, before three more appeared. Adam and Castiel swiftly drew their blades while Lindsey quickly sliced open his palm and tried to create the sigil they’d been instructed to use in emergencies, even if it banished Castiel as well.

There was a clashing of swords, and Lindsey really wanted to know how Adam had managed to work an angel blade into a mortal one, and one flash of light followed quickly by another. Lindsey risked a glance to see two of the angels had already been dealt with while Dean and Bobby were distracted a third. The fourth, Lindsey was not pleased to note, was going right for him. He ducked out of the way of the first blow, activating the first of his tattoos as he rolled, to come back to his feet swinging. The angel staggered, surprised Lindsey assumed at having met resistance from a mortal.

“I’ve fought Old Ones,” Lindsey snarled. “Do you really think you compare?”

“The Old Ones are nothing compared to the light of our Lord,” the angel said, striking out at him again. 

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

He slammed his palm into the angel’s face and felt a surge of satisfaction at the resounding crack. The angel shook off the pain quickly and was about to advance on him again when his eyes went wide at the sword erupting from his chest. Adam pushed the angel off the blade and nodded to Lindsey before they closed their eyes against the flash of light. 

The remaining angel was stronger than the other three, more practiced at warfare, and he knocked Castiel back, plunging his sword into him. Castiel cried out, hand gripping his shoulder where the wound gushed blood, dark against his tan trench coat. 

Dean rushed to Castiel’s side, grabbed the blade, and stood over the angel protectively. Lindsey moved back to the sigil, hurriedly trying to finish it. 

“I forgot to ask in all the fuss,” Adam said, deceptively casual. “But do you prefer cremation or burial?”

“I prefer obedience to our Lord over chaos,” the angel intoned. “Heaven has need of you.”

“Too damn late.” 

Lindsey could hear a wealth of pain and anger in those words, encased in centuries, probably even millennia, of resentment. His feud with Angel felt small in comparison, especially when Lindsey considered what he had now that he probably wouldn’t have otherwise.

“You can’t have him,” Tony said, just a little smug. “He’s ours now.”

“He belonged to Heaven first,” the angel said and Lindsey could hear the heavy tread of his footsteps and the shuffle of Adam’s, though he didn’t dare look away to confirm that the angel was advancing on him. Lindsey finished the sigil with a sloppy down stroke and raised his hand to complete the ritual. 

“Lindsey, now,” Dean urged. 

A split second before Lindsey’s palm touched the sigil, the remaining angel grabbed Adam’s arm, and then they and Castiel were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! I think I might have one more chapter in me at the moment and then I might need a break. And remind me not to write something in present tense at the same time as I'm writing something else in past tense.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition galore in this chapter. Sorry about that, but it had to happen sometime.

They talked in circles for several minutes, trying to come up with a viable plan, before they realised they had nothing to go on. There were at least two factions in Heaven currently and they couldn’t even be sure which one had taken Adam. 

Tony was going over the brief history of angels that Bobby had given him – and the fact that Lucifer had actually risen and Tony hadn’t been aware of it at the time was more than a little terrifying – wracking his brain for some way forward when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen before wincing.

“Hey, Boss.”

“What the hell is going on?” Crawford demanded. “Why are there two dead bodies outside your place?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“No,” Crawford agreed. “I really don’t. Tell me anyway.”

“Angels.”

“Angels?”

“Yep.”

“Okay,” Crawford conceded. “Give me something I can put in the report.”

Tony switched gears, quickly pulling together some of the ideas he’d had about spinning this.

“Militia targeted one of my agents, Baines, because of a case of mistaken identity. We managed to take out the first group and escape before reinforcements could arrive, but the second group managed to track us to our safehouse and abduct him.”

“That sounds like you’ve been doing this too long,” Crawford said with a weary sigh. “Any word on Baines?”

“No sir, not yet.”

“Let me know when there is.”

“You’ll be my first call.”

“And if you need any reinforcements of your own.”

“I know, sir.”

“Good.”

Tony hung up after that and sat silently for a moment, the weight of what they needed to do unbearable. This was bigger than anything they’d had to deal with before. He hesitated a moment before he dialled a different number.

“SSA Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” Tony said, wiping a hand down his face. 

“What’s wrong?”

“They got Baines.”

“Who?”

“Angels,” Tony said, a little hysterical laugh bubbling out of him, because the situation really was insane. How many government agents could say they had their tech guy abducted by angels. There was a long pause and Tony wondered if this was it, if this was the moment that Aaron had had his fill of the utter insanity Tony’s life had turned into.

“You’ll get him back,” Aaron told him, voice strong and firm. Tony relaxed into the cushions of the chair and let out a breath, realising that it was never really Aaron he doubted.

“I don’t know how.”

“Then find someone who does.”

“Someone who can storm Heaven and take on angels? Right.”

“If half the things I hear about your team are true then that shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“You’re right,” Tony said, because Dean and Castiel had fought Lucifer and won. Lindsey had fought... well everyone at some point it seemed, and he was still standing. And there was Adam, who used to be Azrael and, if nothing else, he was a survivor. They could do this. Even if Tony had no idea how. “Thanks.”

“Any time, you know that,” Aaron assured him.

“Yeah,” Tony said, voice going soft. “I do.”

“Stay safe,” Aaron said. Not ‘I love you’, because, as Tony now knew, the last thing they’d said before Aaron heard Haley get shot was about believing in love and now it felt too much like goodbye. So they kept that for when they were together.

“I will. I miss you,” Tony said instead, infusing those words with as much feeling as he could.

“I miss you, too,” Aaron replied, voice warm and affectionate, even if it didn’t hide the undercurrent of worry.

-

They were brainstorming a new plan when Cas stumbled back in. Dean was up in an instant, arms around Cas, helping him to sit, when he saw him. Cas was pale and the red stain at his shoulder was larger. Dean didn’t like the look of his condition at all.

“Come on,” Dean said, helping Cas out of his coat. “We need to get this looked at.”

“It will heal,” Cas said, though he was unresisting. When Cas finally removed his shirt and Dean got a good look at the wound he realised that Adam’s medical care had really spoiled him for patch jobs. Still, when Bobby handed him the med-kit – a must-have in any hunters supplies – he went to work.

“He gonna be okay?” Tony asked when Dean was almost done.

“Yeah,” Dean assured him, aware that Tony was asking only partly out of concern for Cas himself. Cas was their best option at finding a way to get to Adam. 

“I was banished along with Camael and I sought to track him when he fled with Azrael. I did not succeed,” Cas explained, still looking a little pale and Dean wondered how much the already injured Cas had overexerted himself. 

“That’s alright,” Tony said with confidence that Dean was sure was at least partly feigned, but then Dean had seen him pull plans from nowhere before that usually worked. “We’ll find another way.”

“What do we know?” Lindsey asked, leaning forward.

“The angels want Adam to be some kind of game-changer in their civil war,” Dean said.

“But you don’t know which side has him or what they want to do with him,” Bobby interrupted. “Seems like that’s an awful lot of blanks.”

“Right, so what happened?” Tony asked. Dean frowned at the obvious question, frustrated that they were wasting time. “What happened between Azrael and the angels before he was cast down?”

“Azrael chose sides in the war and because of that was stripped of his power and cast down to Earth,” Cas recited. It was exactly what he’d told Dean before this all began. 

“Why?” Tony asked. 

“I... do not know,” Castiel admitted.

“So why’s he so important?”

“Azrael is an archangel. He is the only one with the potential to stand against Raphael.”

“Okay, so we can assume one side of this wants to kill him and the other side wants to turn him into a weapon,” Tony said, but considering what he knew about Adam, Dean didn’t think they’d have very far to go if they wanted a weapon. Adam was already a killer, they were just lucky he’d decided there were better things to do with his time.

“So they would need his, what did you call it, his grace to turn him back, right?” Tony asked.

Dean nodded, wondering if it would still be floating around or if some other angel was holding it, like Uriel had Anna’s. 

“So, where is it? Maybe if we can get to it first...” Lindsey suggested. They were all silent, without a solid plan for how to do that.

“Alright, so who would know? Who would know where his grace is or what happened that he was cast out? There must be someone we can get the information from.”

“I might know someone,” Dean said slowly, cautiously. He barely even allowed himself to think the idea, never mind speak it out loud.

“Great,” Tony said eagerly. “Who?”

“I’d rather not say,” Dean told him, feeling a little foolish, but not enough to divulge what he was thinking. “He tends to know when I’m seeking him out. I’d rather not forewarn him anymore than necessary.”

“Alright,” Tony said, nodding decisively. “You follow up on that, we’ll see where to go from there.”

Dean looked at Bobby and raised an eyebrow. Bobby nodded and followed him out.

-

Methos came to without any recollection of how he came to be unconscious. The room was ornate, gilded and elegant, but it was still a cage without windows or doors. It wasn’t Heaven, Methos could sense at least that much. He figured it was probably too dangerous there when it was so much more difficult to hide him from the other angels. He no longer had his sword or any other his other weapons.

“Where are you, you prigs?” he demanded, knowing his captors couldn’t be far away. Two angels appeared, Camael and Ambriel. Methos should have known, he’d always disliked Camael. And apparently Ambriel preferred female vessels these days.

"Where's Raphael?" Methos demanded.

"We do not side with Raphael," Camael told him.

"I was just with Castiel," Methos said, wondering how many sides there were to this war exactly. Three, at least, from what he could tell.

"We do not side with Castiel," Ambriel said.

"Though he was resurrected, he has no true claim," Camael added.

"He has more claim than me," Methos told them. "I'm not an angel."

"God made you," Camael said. "That is not something so easily unwrought."

“Seems pretty easy from where I’m sitting.”

“You must stand with us against Raphael,” Ambriel said, her vessel’s face earnest and expectant. They couldn’t honestly believe he would stand with them after they kidnapped him. But then, they were angels, they weren’t used to thinking for themselves. The only one he’d really liked was Gabriel. And perhaps Castiel who seemed almost tolerable these days for all that he'd ruined Methos' disappearing act.

The whole thing was ludicrous. Methos had managed to keep out of the whole apocalypse mess entirely, except for the occasional right word whispered in the right ear or anonymous tipoff, or an ancient text suddenly reappearing when it was most needed. But the conflict, Lucifer’s rampage, he’d avoided that all. Now, he was being dragged into the messy aftermath.

“Why?” Methos demanded. “What do you need me for?”

“You must lead us,” Camael said.

Methos laughed long and hard before he realised they were serious.

-

Lindsey was listening with half an ear as they discussed what they would need to do when they found Adam. Whatever plan they came up with, they needed to find a way to make Tony undetectable by the angels.

“Castiel,” he said finally, drawing the attention of the angel. “What you did to Dean, with the Enochian sigils, can you do that to Tony, too?”

Castiel nodded even as Tony frowned. The first time they’d seen X-rays of Dean’s ribs after a particularly bad case where they’d forced Dean to go to the hospital, they’d all been shocked at the bone-deep markings. Only some quick computer work from Adam, a bit of charm from Tony, and the threat of a lawsuit from Lindsey had stopped the hospital from taking it further. 

“Angels can track us anywhere?” Tony asked, looking a little uncomfortable at the idea. Lindsey had to agree. 

“They are currently only able to track you, Agent DiNozzo,” Castiel said and Tony grimaced. 

“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” he asked with a weak smile, trying to mask his anxiety. Lindsey stepped forward, resting a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Castiel said frankly before he pressed a hand to Tony’s chest. Tony grimaced and flinched away but Castiel was already finished. “There is damage to your lungs. Would you like me to heal that?”

“I...” Tony began, trailing off, apparently at a loss for words. “Please.”

When Castiel stepped forward again, Tony tensed, but quickly relaxed, so Lindsey knew the angel wasn’t hurting him.

“It is done,” Castiel told him, voice gentling as he looked up at Tony. It was the most human Lindsey had seen Castiel around anyone but Dean. Tony rubbed at his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, voice breaking just a little. Castiel nodded. Lindsey knew just how much Tony had hated the betrayal of his body the scar tissue had caused; the tightness in cold weather, the shortness of breath after running; and this alone would have indebted Lindsey to Castiel. He squeezed Tony’s shoulder.

“You are already hidden from us,” Castiel said, looking Lindsey over. 

Lindsey shrugged. He was hidden from more than just angels. He would have offered the same protection to Tony, but their leader hadn’t needed it until now, and Lindsey doubted Tony had either the time or inclination to undergo the rituals that Lindsey had to obtain his tattoos. 

“I think we’re ready,” Dean said, coming back into the room. Bobby stood behind him with a large book in his hands. “Ready?” Dean asked turning to Bobby and Bobby pushed the book into Dean’s hands.

“He doesn’t like me, idjit, and this is your plan,” Bobby told him.

“Right. My plan,” Dean said faintly. Lindsey really didn’t have a good feeling about this. “Okay,” he said steeling himself. He looked down at the book and began to read, steadily reading line after line of Latin and Lindsey really wasn’t too pleased with what he was hearing. This was beyond insane. When Dean was done, nothing seemed to happen immediately, and they all held themselves tense, waiting. 

A tall, gaunt man appeared in the room and Lindsey thought he might even bear some superficial resemblance to Adam. A chill shivered down his spine when the man’s gaze swept the room and Lindsey knew he was anything but mortal. The very air was saturated with his power and authority.

“Death, old buddy, old pal,” Dean said with a wide smile and only the smallest tremor in his voice. Lindsey had to give him respect for that.

Death stared down at Dean with a grave and forbidding expression.


	5. Chapter 5

“Mister Winchester, why have you summoned me?” Death asked and Dean swallowed convulsively.

“I might have all of eternity,” Death said slowly and deliberately, though Dean was sure there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “But _you_ do not.”

“Azrael,” Dean said quickly. “We’re looking for Azrael.”

Something very much like concern washed across Death’s face before it was swiftly erased. Considering they both dealt in death, Dean wondered what the relationship was between the two.

“I fail to see how my presence is relevant.”

“We need to know what happened, why he fell, what happened to his grace.”

Death raised a single eyebrow.

“Please?” Dean offered belatedly.

“Death must maintain the natural order,” Death said as though that explained everything. Dean rolled his eyes at the line he’d heard before.

“What is the natural order?” Tony asked from behind him and Dean couldn’t help but feel a little relieved at having that heavy gaze off of him.

“There is war and disease and disaster, but Death is always apart.”

“Azrael chose sides,” Castiel said and Death inclined his head.

“So, what?” Dean asked. “Azrael fought against Lucifer and the other angels thanked him by casting him out of Heaven?”

“After the war, yes.” 

For a moment, Death looked almost displeased. Dean knew angels were dicks, he had plenty of first-hand evidence, but it seemed beyond low to him to use someone like that and then strip them of everything when you were done with them. 

“Dick move,” Dean muttered.

“Death must remain neutral.”

“What about his grace?” Tony asked. “Is it possible to restore it to him?”

“Perhaps.”

“How?”

Death turned the full weight of his gaze to Tony and raised an eyebrow. Tony sighed.

“Neutral, right.”

The very corner of Death’s mouth curled up.

“So no chance of you telling us where he is at the moment?” Dean asked hopefully.

Death gazed at him steadily and Dean shrugged, figuring it had been worth a try.

“Thank you for your help, sir,” Tony said. The look Death gave Dean was rather pointed and Dean rolled his eyes.

“And you, Mister McDonald, do try not to upset the natural order. You’re almost as bad as Mister Winchester,” Death said and it was only then that Dean realised that Lindsey had been unusually quiet.

And Death was gone. Dean breathed out slowly, admiring how the sun seemed to shine a little brighter and the world seemed to have a little more colour.

-

Methos paced the edges of the room, frustrated at the confinement. He’d never done well with boredom and the room offered no distractions after he’d searched every inch for a means of escape. Two angels appeared, focusing immediately on him. 

“We need to leave,” one angel said, grabbing his arm roughly. Methos yanked his arm free.

“What’s going on?” he demanded and the angels hesitated. Whatever else came after, he’d been an archangel, one of only five, and that accorded him respect, even now.

“Raphael is on his way,” the angel told him, holding out a hand more calmly now. “We must get you to safety.”

“Very well,” Methos conceded, knowing that the point of transition was always the weakest in any plan. If he was going to have a chance at escape, then this was it. Before the angel could take hold of him again, two more angels appeared and swiftly attacked his two captors. 

Methos backed away as more angels appeared and the fight began in earnest. The angels fought viciously, demolishing what little furniture there was, and throwing each other into the walls. Finally, one of the walls shuddered at the onslaught and rent. Methos made for it quickly and was almost there when two angels grabbed him and held him firmly. Around him, his captors fell. 

Some quality in the air changed and Methos tensed, spotting Raphael immediately even through his vessel. Raphael strolled over, ignoring the massacre around him, and grabbed Methos’ chin in an unyielding hand. Methos glared at him. 

“Join me,” Raphael offered.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Join me and you’d be returned to your rightful place. You wouldn’t have to live among these apes any longer.”

“I’ve grown to like the apes.”

"There was a time when you would have been only too happy to see them all burn," Raphael said.

Methos supposed that was true enough, but he'd been young then, at least in terms of experiencing life as a human. He'd chosen sides; he'd fought and killed and suffered and been cast aside because of it. Thrown to Earth to live among mortals after losing his home, his people, himself, all for them, in protection of them, and nothing had changed, none of them even noticed, and he'd grown so very angry. In time, his grief had known no bounds and his anger could not be abated.

"I wanted you to burn more," Methos said, unsuccessfully trying to jerk away from the angels holding him. 

“You always were stubborn.”

“You always were merciless.”

Raphael stepped forward, stabbing him and the silver angel blade sliced easily through his abdomen. 

“You always did try my patience,” Raphael said, leaning in close as he twisted the blade. Methos gritted his teeth against the agonised groan threatening to escape. He collapsed to his knees just as Camael’s reinforcements showed up. 

He dropped to the ground long enough for everyone to disregard him, clutching at his belly as the puncture bled steadily. There was no spark of healing, no tingling of his Quickening, and Methos groaned, curling in on himself before he rolled on to his hands and knees and then staggered to his feet. He stumbled through one of the holes in the once pristine walls into the warehouse beyond and stopped only long enough to grab his sword. 

-

Kronos glanced at the display on his phone as it rang, wondering if this was Methos, finally contacting him or if Methos had run again. The older Immortal had always been one to lie to suit his needs. He pressed the answer button.

“Brother,” Methos said and Kronos smirked.

“Your definition of ‘later’ leaves a lot to be desired,” Kronos told him, tempted to tell Methos precisely what he desired.

“Brother,” Kronos heard Methos draw in a pained breath. “I need you.”

“Tell me where you are and I will be there.”

Methos gave him brief directions, voice tight with pain, before he fell silent.

“Methos!” Kronos snapped, already out the door and on the way to his car. 

“I’m here,” Methos said, ending on a groan. “I’m just having a little problem with dying at the moment.”

“Get somewhere safe and hole up. I can be with you in two hours.”

“Keep off the radar,” Methos told him. “Watch out for angels. And bring a permanent marker.”

“Angels?” Kronos questioned, but Methos had hung up on him already. Kronos frowned. What the hell mess had Methos got himself into now?

-

Methos revived with a gasp, the jangle of an Immortal presence already in his head. He wrapped a hand around his blade and pointed it at the other Immortal as he sat up before he realised it was Kronos. He sank back down to the hard ground and focused on breathing, finally able to relax not that he had someone he... well not trusted, not precisely, but someone he could count on to keep him alive.

“A word of advice,” Methos told him, rubbing at the residual ache of his healed wound, “don’t get stabbed by an angel blade.”

“I’ll have to scratch it off my bucket list.”

Methos snorted and Kronos leaned over him, drawing him into a possessive kiss.

“Something I should know about?” Kronos asked, indicating the sigils drawn in blood all over the walls of the abandoned building in which Methos had managed to seek shelter. It hadn’t been the safest place, but it had been the most convenient, and Methos had had to make do.

“They want me back.”

“They must be desperate,” Kronos said with a smirk, laughing when Methos glared at him.

“You bring the marker?” Methos asked and Kronos handed it to him. “Strip.”

Kronos raised an eyebrow, but Methos was deadly serious about this, so Kronos shucked out of his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off. Methos uncapped the marker and pressed it to Kronos’ back, trailing designs across his skin. He gave a smirk of his own when Kronos shuddered under his touch.

“Should I ask what you’re planning to do?” Kronos asked, a little belatedly.

“Binding you to my will,” Methos answered nonchalantly. Kronos paused a moment, not entirely sure he was joking, and Methos laughed. “It’s haphazard at best, but it should be enough to camouflage you if they aren’t looking at you too closely. It’s not foolproof,” he warned.

Kronos craned, trying to see what symbols Methos had traced onto his skin – undoubtedly trying to see what was there in case it proved useful in the future – but he couldn’t quite see what was there. Methos could have put the designs anywhere, but it had amused him to place them somewhere unreachable.

“I need to get in touch with my team,” Methos said. 

“Hiding behind mortals now?” Kronos asked with just the barest hint of antagonism. 

“Using every available resource,” Methos countered, because Kronos wouldn’t understand his affection for his team, wouldn’t understand why he needed this team when he’d orchestrated the Horsemen’s destruction twice over.

Kronos watched him with narrowed eyes before he finally agreed. 

-

Tony glanced at Lindsey, who still looked a bit unsettled, though he tried to hide it. 

“You okay?” he asked and Lindsey frowned.

“I’m not all that fond of death,” Lindsey said. “Or Death.”

“Something you want to talk about?”

“No,” Lindsey said, then sighed. “For a while there, death was something I encountered on a daily basis. I don’t wish to repeat the experience.”

Lindsey looked pale at the thought and Tony couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like, but he knew what it was like to not trust that someone would have your back when you really needed it. He knew what it was like to think you might end up in a situation you couldn’t get yourself out of alone and to know, with absolute certainty, that no one was coming for you. 

“You won’t,” Tony assured him, gripping Lindsey’s shoulder to reinforce his words. “We wouldn’t let that happen and between us there isn’t a lot we couldn’t do to get you back.”

Lindsey nodded and Tony couldn’t tell from Lindsey’s composed expression if he’d been reassured or not, but he didn’t get a chance to ask when his phone rang again.

“DiNozzo,” he said, answering it.

“Tony, it’s Adam.”

“Adam,” he said, relieved to hear that he was alright. Lindsey watched him keenly.

“I’m going to ground,” Adam told him. “I’ll let you know when I’m somewhere safe.”

He couldn’t come back to Bobby’s, even if they did get the sigils up again, it was just too obvious now, but Adam was good at hiding, had been doing it a lot longer than Tony had ever believed possible. 

“Call Castiel,” Tony insisted. “He can bring us to you without being detected.”

“Castiel’s alive?”

“Injured, but yes.”

There was a long pause and Tony heard the sound of muffled voices going back and forth in argument. Clearly, Adam wasn’t alone and Tony suddenly wondered if he was being coerced into making the call. 

“I’ll let you know,” Adam said finally. 

“You’re safe for now, though?” Tony asked.

“I am,” Adam assured him. “I’ve got someone watching my back.”

Tony allowed himself to relax just a little at that. Adam wasn’t stupid and usually wasn’t too reckless, if he had someone keeping an eye on him, Tony had to believe he’d be alright.

“We’ll see you soon,” Tony insisted and Adam murmured agreement before hanging up.

-

They’d packed all the supplies they might possibly need and were just waiting for the signal from Adam, delivered via Cas. Dean felt impatient and he knew the others did, too. Any time they spent away from Adam meant he was without backup. Finally, Cas tilted his head to one side, listening.

“He calls,” he told them and they all made sure they were touching him before he vanished from Bobby’s house. The room they arrived in was nondescript other than the sigils drawn on the wall. Adam stood in one corner, an unfamiliar man at his side. Before Dean was even aware of Cas moving, the angel was across the room, attacking the man.

“Demon,” Cas growled, wrapping a hand around the man’s throat and pinning him to the wall. His other hand was raised to banish the demon when Adam stopped him.

“Cease, Seraph,” Adam commanded with all the authority of an archangel, even though Dean knew he didn’t have the power to back it up. Cas froze. “You will release him.”

“You would consort with demons?” Cas asked, not moving.

“Just the one.”

Cas hesitated and finally let the demon go. When Dean looked at that too handsome face smirking condescendingly at them all, he couldn’t help but think of Ruby and how she’d ultimately killed his brother. Oh, Dean knew he bore a great deal of the responsibility, too. He’d broken in Hell and when he came back he’d been weak enough that Sam hadn’t been able to rely on him. But it had been Ruby’s poisonous words and poisonous blood that had led to Sam killing Lilith and releasing Lucifer.

“There’s no way we can trust that _thing_ ,” Dean told him. “When demons get involved it never ends well.”

“It’s... complicated,” Adam said, shaking his head. “But for this, if nothing else, we can trust him.”

The demon smirked, apparently proud of his untrustworthy status.

“You can never trust a demon!”

“Kronos is different.”

That made the demon smirk even more and Dean wanted nothing more but to stab him through the heart with the demon-killing knife. He couldn’t believe Adam, who used to be an angel and really should know better, was letting a demon play him.

“He is,” Castiel said, head cocked to one side as he looked at the demon. “There is something unusual about him, but I’m not sure what.”

For a brief moment, the demon looked uncertain, but Dean knew it was just a ploy to make him seem vulnerable, to make them relax their guard. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“He’s unique,” Adam told them. 

“That doesn’t mean he’s on our side,” Dean insisted.

“No,” Adam agreed easily. “But he is on mine. For now.”

Kronos sidled up to Adam, wrapping a possessive arm around his waist, hand settling on his hip. Adam rolled his eyes but didn’t do anything to object and Dean made an abortive noise of protest.

“I can’t watch this,” Dean said, turning and walking out of the room. He knew better than to leave the house and he wasn’t about to leave Adam unprotected with a demon at his back, but he couldn’t stomach seeing history repeat itself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a filler chapter as everyone settles in and makes plans.

“What is the strength of Raphael’s army?” Methos asked Castiel, not even looking up as he scrawled notes on scraps of paper.

“Heaven’s numbers have been decimated, but Raphael still leads a full battalion,” Castiel answered. Methos made a thoughtful noise and wrote that down, then pinned the information underneath a sketch of Raphael’s likeness. Beside it was a list of all his strengths and weaknesses. 

Growing out from there was a spider web of scraps on every bit of information Methos considered might have some import on what they were facing; recent angel movements, assets and resources, suspected loyalties, potential locations and more, until it covered the whole wall. The language of each changed, depending on the frame of mind Methos had been in; English, Etruscan, Gaelic, Egyptian, Ancient Greek, Russian, and languages long lost to history. 

“Lindsey, can you do passive but persistent locating enchantments?” Methos asked.

“With some preparation.”

“I need...” Methos began, rubbing at his eyes and running a hand through his already mussed hair. “I need more space.”

“You need a break, Brother,” Kronos said, coming to stand at Methos’ back, hands settling on his arms, stilling him for a moment. For the briefest time, Methos allowed himself to lean back into Kronos’ solid chest, borrowing his strength before he pulled away.

“I need to finish this,” Methos said, linking two pieces of information with a bit of string. Kronos rested a hand on Methos’ shoulder, thumb stroking the sensitive skin of Methos’ neck. Methos shivered and closed his eyes.

“We have time enough for you to rest,” Kronos said, leaning in close, his breath brushing Methos’ ear. “Just for a little while.”

“Maybe,” Methos conceded.

“I’m sure I could find ways of persuading you,” Kronos teased and Methos smiled just a little. 

“You always did.”

“Except for the last time.”

“That might have had something to do with killing and threatening me.”

“You killed me, too, and a little more permanently, I might add,” Kronos said, because they both knew MacLeod had just been the weapon.

“You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“That’s on you, too.”

Immortals took on each other’s souls, absorbing their strength and personality, but MacLeod hadn’t absorbed Kronos. The Double Quickening had meant that when Kronos reached for Methos, Methos reached back, and Methos had taken him, pulling him close before releasing him to Death’s embrace. The only Immortal to reach the afterlife. 

“It is,” Methos said, suddenly serious, because they’d all be feeling the consequences of that choice for years to come.

“I’m going for supplies,” Dean said abruptly, standing from where he’d been pouring over a thick tome and walking from the room.

“Don’t get caught,” Tony called after him.

Methos had already turned back to looking at the wall, determining the best use of their strengths against an angel army.

-

Lindsey sighed as he threw down the sketchbook where he’d been drawing runes and wards, trying to arrange them in a way that would accomplish what he was trying to achieve. He was distracted, they all were, by the demon in their midst. All except for Adam and, apparently, Castiel. 

Adam wasn’t stupid, Lindsey knew that. He could tie them all in knots before they even knew what was happening. But this seemed to be his one blind spot and Lindsey didn’t know what to do with that, how far to trust that his ability to see all the other angles could compensate for this.

Finally, Lindsey gave in and sought out Adam, who was still in his planning room, though alone now, and muttering to himself in a language Lindsey didn’t recognise. He looked tired, Lindsey thought, wrung out, and Lindsey hesitated. 

“What do you want?” Adam asked. He leaned heavily of the table and bowed his head for a moment before turning to look at Lindsey.

“Answers.”

Adam sighed and rubbed at his eyes before he squared his shoulders and looked at Lindsey evenly, the weariness all but wiped away. He was preparing for battle, Lindsey thought.

“Who is Kronos to you?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?”

Adam’s smile was a little wry. 

“We were brothers once and more. A long time ago.”

Adam’s expression was distant and Lindsey wondered, with the knowledge of Adam’s past that they’d discovered, how long ago that was, how many eons. 

“And now?”

Adam shrugged, then shook his head.

“I don’t know. It’s...”

“Complicated.”

“Right,” Adam said, folding his arms and looking at the ground. Lindsey remained silent. Adam wouldn’t be pushed, not on anything personal.

“We were good together,” Adam said finally, a little wistfully, before he shook his head. “And so very terrible. The world was ours for the taking and we revelled in it.”

Lindsey looked away then, thinking of himself, of the Circle of the Blackthorn. He knew how addictive that kind of power could be, how all-consuming it could be regardless of your intentions. Adam’s history was a dark and troubled thing, he’d always know that, had never needed to pry further, but there was still something he needed to know.

“What happened?”

“I grew to fear him, the power he had over me, the lengths he would go to,” Adam said, turning to look out the window at the barren and sandy little garden. “So I ran, as far and fast as I could, and I never stopped, not for 2000 years.”

“But he’s here now.”

“We’re tangled together, him and I. Always drawn together even as we push each other away. There are days when I know the world would be better off without him and days when I don’t know who I am if he’s not in it, somewhere.”

Lindsey thought of Angel, unable to not make the connection, no matter how much he wished it wasn’t so. He hated that the vampire was never far from his thoughts, that he wasn’t over it already.

“I’ve done terrible things, Lindsey. I’m not a good man. I’ve never claimed to be.”

“We are, all of us, just men,” Lindsey told him softly, feeling like he should feel sorry at having dredged this all up, but unable to regret it.

“Some of us better than others,” Adam said, turning to look at Lindsey again. There was a moment of understanding between them. They did what they had to do to get the job done, but especially to protect Tony and Dean from themselves. Tony and Dean, who were good men and tended to shoulder more of the burden of responsibility than they ever should have to. So, in whatever small ways they could, Lindsey and Adam relieved them of that burden.

“Do you have your answers,” Adam asked.

“Yes,” Lindsey said with a smile. “No.” Because that was always how it was with Adam.

Adam smiled a little in return and gave a brief nod before returning to his planning.

-

Kronos pushed away from the where he’d been leaning against the wall, just next to the doorway, when he heard the conversation end and made his way down the passage before McDonald exited. There was a lot he had to think about. Not least that Methos was confiding in a mortal, that he’d even told the truth, or as close as passed for it with Methos.

Kronos entered the small kitchen area, where they had a few, sparse supplies, just enough to keep them going. DiNozzo stood at the counter, the makings of a sandwich in front of him.

“Something I can help you with?” DiNozzo asked, looking perfectly amiable even if there was caution in his eyes. These mortals had no idea what he was capable of.

“No.”

“I thought Adam should probably have something to eat,” DiNozzo said, gesturing to the food.

“I’ll take it,” Kronos insisted, already taking the plate. 

“Sure,” DiNozzo said with a shrug, turning away to prepare something for himself. Kronos paused for a moment, thinking that he’d killed mortals for less before he curbed the impulse. He returned instead to Methos’ room and let himself in. 

“Methos, you should eat something,” he told the Immortal. Methos grunted something unintelligible at him and Kronos smiled fondly, reminded of Methos in the midst of animal skins and parchments, brows drawn in concentration, acting as though the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“Tell me how, exactly, you’re going to fight an archangel when you’ve worn yourself out,” Kronos asked. Methos turned then, rolling his eyes.

“I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“Of course, brother,” Kronos said easily, wrapping an hand around Methos’ arm and guiding him to a couch. Methos glared at Kronos. “Eat.”

Methos ate slowly and methodically, and Kronos doubted that he tasted any of it.

“Rest, brother,” Kronos said, pulling Methos to him when he was done. “I’ve got you.”

Methos resisted, still trying to get up, though it was clearly an effort.

“I’ll keep watch,” Kronos told him. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to them.”

Finally, Methos allowed himself to be drawn down, head resting in Kronos’ lap as Kronos ran his fingers through Methos’ hair. The other hand was placed protectively, possessively, on Methos’ arm. As Methos’ eyes shut and his breath evened out, Kronos realised he had a decision to make. Methos was right when he said he’d changed, though Kronos hadn’t wanted to listen, and it was up to Kronos to decide if he could accept that.

-

Dean sat cross-legged on the bed, carefully and meticulously cleaning his weapons. The more attention he spent on the weapons, the less he had to spare for thinking about things. Castiel appeared at the edge of his room and Dean could feel the weight of his gaze.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked, coming to stand at the end of Dean’s bed. 

“Fine,” Dean said, sliding his knife a little too forcefully against the whetstone. 

“You are upset,” Cas argued.

“No,” Dean said firmly. “I’m not.”

“You only treat your weapons like that when you’re upset.”

“I always make sure they’re serviceable,” Dean objected. 

“Of course,” Cas agreed and Dean glared at him, even though he knew that Cas was probably right. He always looked after his weapons, but he only got particular about it when he needed the distraction. Dean breathed in deeply and looked up to meet Cas’s eyes.

“What happened to him?” Dean asked. “He was an angel, how can he even consider...”

“He was cast down, betrayed by his own.”

Dean couldn’t stop the twinge of sympathy he felt at that. He knew what it was like to feel abandoned, like he’d lost everything that was important to him and even hope was beyond reach, like he had to cling tightly to those few things he had left. 

“But what about Anna, or the others who choose to fall? How is that any different?”

“They chose. To be stripped of grace is a violation, a trauma from which most don’t recover. Those angels are never the same again.”

“But a demon?” Dean asked, still not able to get beyond that. Cas frowned, looking a little uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. 

“He was not always a demon and Azrael has lived a very long time.”

“You think they knew each other when he was human?”

Cas shrugged. Dean remembered the conversation earlier, the one that had sent him from the room, where Kronos had said Adam killed him. But even that didn’t help all that much, because to have ended up in Hell, Kronos must have done some pretty bad things and Methos could be ruthless, yes, and Dean knew he hadn’t always been a good guy exactly, but who he was now, Dean’s teammate and friend, deserved more than the company of a demon who would only betray him.

“He’s still a demon now.”

“I’m not sure what he is,” Cas said.

“At least we don’t have to worry about the guy he’s possessing,” Dean said with a shake of his head. If nothing else, that was the one thing he was willing concede. 

“We don’t?”

“From what I’ve read, Damien Moreau deserves whatever he gets.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Azrael,” Death said. 

Methos glanced up from his notes to look at Death. He appeared exactly the same as the last time he’d seen him, standing over Alexa’s bed.

“Grim.”

Death’s mouth turned down a little at the corners.

“You know I am not overly fond of that nickname,” Death told him, exasperated in that way only a handful could read on his face and in his tone.

“If the cowl fits,” Methos said, smiling. Death looked at him evenly and Methos knew whatever reason Death had come for, it was serious.

"There is something they did not wish for you to know," Death told him.

"I'm sure there's a lot of things they don’t want me knowing," Methos said bitterly. He was not fond of secrets, at least ones he didn’t know, and especially not ones about himself. 

"They would prefer you not to know that you must eventually reclaim your role," Death told him, stepping closer. Even from where Methos was standing, he could feel Death’s chill. He folded his arms to ward off the cold, thankful again that he knew what it meant to be truly alive.

"How?" Methos asked, if only to avoid it for as long as possible.

"By embracing Death," Death said solemnly.

"You're not my type."

"We're the same."

"Exactly."

Death looked at him for a long moment and Methos met his gaze for only a moment before he had to look away. He generally tried not to think too hard about that and what it meant for him. When he looked back up, Death’s expression had softened into sympathy.

“Mister Winchester has the ring.”

“I was hoping to avoid that.”

“It is inevitable that you will become as you once were,” Death told him, tone gentle and Methos rankled.

“Not for a very long time, not if I have any say in the matter.” 

As much as he’d first found a world without his grace unbearable, he’d come to appreciate the finer aspects of embracing humanity. The idea of having to bear that weight again, the responsibility of his power, with dispassion and disinterest was horrifying. 

“Your say is rather limited,” Death told him, but not without regret. “But you are right, the time has not yet come.”

Methos let out a long breath, more relieved than he cared to mention.

“Anything else you should probably mention?” Methos asked. Death considered him thoughtfully for a moment.

“Immortal souls were not meant for hell. You know that.”

“I’ve always thought rules were open to interpretation.”

“Your demon should not exist," Death insisted.

"It's a little late for that."

"Indeed. I find that I am intrigued as to how he will alter the fabric of the universe.”

“Well, we all need something to look forward to,” Methos said with a grin.

“Do try not to get into too much trouble,” Death told him, giving him a stern look as he disappeared. Methos laughed.

-

As he finished his most recent update to Crawford, Tony thought about what they were facing and the plan Adam had sketched out to them. He trusted Adam, hadn’t seen many tacticians like him, and the raids he planned almost never went wrong. When they did, there were always minimal casualties. 

The new information about him, the fact that he was once an angel, didn’t change any of that and Tony couldn’t really begrudge him the secrecy. That didn’t stop him needing to know what exactly had led them to where they were, from Adam’s perspective, because Tony didn’t trust those they’d managed to get bits and pieces out of.

“Adam, we have to talk,” Tony told him. 

“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” Adam asked with a smile, though there was a new tension in his shoulders. 

“I’m pregnant,” Tony said dryly and Adam laughed.

“What do you want to know?” Adam asked, becoming serious, wariness in his eyes. Tony’s smile faded, too.

“Tell me what happened with the angels,” he said. “And what happened after?”

“You know what happened,” Adam told him, arms folded, but knew that this was going to be difficult.

“Not from you. I need to know if there are going to be any surprises.”

Adam frowned forbiddingly but Tony met his gaze with compassion. They all knew Adam’s past wasn’t exactly bright and happy, which was even more obvious now that they knew about the angels. He reached forward, gripping Adam’s arm, and looking at him intently.

“Whatever it is, I need to know,” Tony told him, not having any platitudes that either of them would believe, that would make it easier. “Or they’ll tell us their version.”

Adam’s expression turned fierce and his lip curled in a snarl.

“I didn’t follow their rules so they cast me down, but not before they exploited my tactical abilities,” Adam said, eyes burning with old anger. “What happened after just confirmed all their worst fears.”

“What happened?” Tony asked. 

“They might have cast me down, but that’s not an excuse. No, I enjoyed it, you know; the killing, the terror and the power. I revelled in having continents tremble before me.”

As he spoke, Adam advanced and Tony was forced to retreat until he could feel the wall, solid against his back. Tony’s mouth drew into a thin line and he nodded, having expected something bad, if not quite that. 

“I was Death and hell followed in my wake,” Adam told him, voice tight with anger. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,” Tony said, sick with the idea of how many must have fallen to Adam’s blade and his rage.

“When they woke up screaming in terror, it’s because I haunted their nightmares,” Adam continued unrelentingly.

“Is that the worst of it?” Tony asked, fighting to keep his voice steady. This wasn’t what they did, interrogating each other, but Tony had never been one to shy away from the difficult decisions. Even if it meant saving team members from themselves.

“What? Genocide isn’t enough for you?”

“Is it enough for you?” Tony asked softly.

“You could fill oceans with the blood of the people I’ve killed.”

“Is it enough?” Tony persisted, because right there with the anger in Adam’s eyes was fear and sorrow, and the tremble in his voice wasn’t rage but grief. Adam was silent. Tony hesitantly rested a hand on his shoulder, but didn’t dare draw Adam any closer, not with how highly strung he was in that moment. 

“It’s been millennia since I sought out death,” Adam said, shoulders dropping as his body sagged, the tension suddenly cut.

“Okay,” Tony said, because he couldn’t handle what he’d been told, not right then, not with emotions still so high. Dealing would come later. “Okay.”

-

Kronos cornered Methos when all the yelling was done with. Methos looked entirely wrung out and Kronos fingers itched to wrap around the mortal’s neck and squeeze. He’d never been particularly good at impulse control and being trapped in this house with Methos’ pets was not doing him any favours.

“You would never have tolerated this before,” Kronos told him, gripping Methos’ chin and forcing him to look into Kronos’ eyes. Methos had killed mortals for looking at him wrong, for a muttered word against him, because he felt like it. 

“I tolerated it all the time,” Methos snarled, expression fierce. Kronos shifted his grip to around Methos’ neck and pushed in closer. Methos’ eyes narrowed.

“Not from them,” Kronos argued. “Not when they’re so much less than you.”

It still galled him that Methos considered these mortals as equals. It might have been tolerable with McDonald and Winchester, who’d faced Old Ones and Lucifer respectively. But DiNozzo was infuriatingly mortal. There was nothing special about him.

“And you?” 

“We are always so much more together,” Kronos told him, resting his forehead against Methos’. Methos closed his eyes, looking pained, but he didn’t pull away.

“Kronos,” Methos breathed. “Kronos, we always destroy each other.”

“But not until we’ve set the world alight,” Kronos said with a wide grin and too-bright eyes. He pulled Methos into a hard kiss, pressing him up against the wall. Methos fingers snaked into Kronos’ hair, drawing him closer, before curling into a fist and he pushed at Kronos’ chest with the other hand. Kronos parted from him, but only barely.

“I quite like the world,” Methos told him.

“There’s always angels,” Kronos said with a shrug, smirking when that pulled a reluctant smile from Methos. 

“Well, that’s alright then,” Methos said dryly.

“I should go if we’re going to set this plan of yours in motion,” Kronos told him. “The sooner this is done, the sooner we’re out of this rat hole.”

“Says the man who lived in both an abandoned power station and an abandoned submarine base.”

“You used to have a better sense of drama,” Kronos told him, stepping back. Methos frowned.

“I used to be a lot of things.”

Kronos kept silent despite the urge to insist that it could again be like it used to be, that nothing had to change. That hadn’t gone so well last time, though the appeal of it had been obvious on Methos’ face and the way he’d trembled, just a little, when Kronos spoke of the old days. 

“I’d better grab McDonald and head to the store,” Kronos said.

“Yeah,” Methos said. “Look after yourself.”

“Always,” Kronos told him. He stepped away entirely and walked away, leaving Methos with mussed hair and creased clothing.

“Come on, McDonald,” Kronos said, striding down the passage to the front door. “Let’s go.”

Kronos didn’t wait for Lindsey to look to DiNozzo for confirmation, but by the time he’d reached the street, Lindsey was at his side. 

“What is it about DiNozzo?” Kronos asked once they’d reached the end of the block.

“What do you mean?” McDonald asked, scanning the houses they passed. He was good, Kronos thought, prepared. He might even have made a good Immortal.

“Why are you all so quick to follow DiNozzo? He knows nothing, he is nothing.”

Anger flashed across McDonald’s face and the look he cut across at Kronos promised any number of awful things, but Kronos already knew that DiNozzo inspired absurd amounts of loyalty.

“He’s a good man,” Lindsey said, shrugging with forced nonchalance. 

“A good man?” Kronos asked, because that couldn’t possibly be enough. There were plenty of good men in the world, or men who thought themselves good, but hadn’t gathered to them with ease the kinds of people who seemed to flock around DiNozzo.

Lindsey shrugged again, still tense. Kronos got the feeling that, like Methos, McDonald just thought he wouldn’t understand. Maybe they were right.

“And that’s enough?” Kronos asked.

“It’s a whole lot,” Lindsey said softly, reluctantly. Kronos still wasn’t sure how DiNozzo was so important and couldn’t even begin to think how to counter his influence without knowing. He was going to question McDonald further when two angels appeared in front of them. Kronos turned to see two more behind them. Lindsey shifted stance beside him and readied to fight.

“Azrael is fond of these two,” one of the angels said. 

“They will be suitable,” another said. 

They launched themselves at the angels, knowing exactly how it was going to end. Lindsey was dropped first, an angel holding him to the ground with a boot to his back. Kronos held for only seconds longer before he, too, couldn’t stand against them. As an angel painfully twisted his arm behind his back, Kronos thought that Methos really needed to work on the execution of his plans.


	8. Chapter 8

“I need the ring,” Methos told Dean. Dean looked up from where he was sitting on the bed, cleaning his weapons. He didn’t look to be in any particular kind of hurry even as Cas disappeared off the bed, from where he had been sitting next to Dean as they worked quietly together, to appear across the room, rigidly at attention. 

“What ring?” Dean asked, expression the picture of innocence. Methos really did admire Dean’s acting ability. He was wasted on mortality.

“Death’s.”

Dean hesitated, reluctance clear in every line of his body and his closed off expression, and Methos simply raised an eyebrow. Dean had no right to it and the idea that he could protect it was laughable.

“Why do you need it?” Dean asked, eyes narrowing.

“Because it’s mine.”

“Don’t you mean Death’s?”

“Same thing.”

Death couldn’t simply stop existing, not even if the representation of it became something else entirely. Azrael had never been entirely like the other angels, he’d never been entirely God’s, not when he’d existed before them and would continue after them. Stripping his grace had merely separated the man who came to identify himself as Methos from Death. The ring was just the conduit.

“It’s at Bobby’s,” Dean said finally.

“Great,” Methos said. “Castiel.”

Castiel seemed to stand even more to attention and Methos smiled a little fondly even as Dean looked peeved. Methos was growing to like Dean’s angel, and he was definitely Dean’s if the way he turned to Dean like Dean was the answer to every question Castiel had never thought to ask was any indication. Castiel had spine, was willing to stand up to his brothers, even the oldest ones, and he’d tasted free will and was loath to give it up. Methos could identify with that.

“We need to go back to Bobby’s,” he told Castiel. Castiel frowned.

“Is that safe?” he asked. 

“It’s a risk we have to take,” Methos said. “We will have to be quick.”

They’d have to leave quickly, too, or Tony would likely try to stop them from doing something entirely too stupid and the plan hinged on that ring.

“Quick,” Dean said with a shake of his head then a shrug. “Well, we’ve had worse odds.”

Dean climbed off the bed, appropriating several of his finished weapons as he did so, and reached for Castiel’s hand. Castiel grasped his quickly then reached out to touch Adam’s arm. A moment later they appeared at Bobby’s door. 

“Show me where the ring is,” Methos said. Dean nodded, but turned to Castiel first.

“Let Bobby know what we’re doing.”

Castiel nodded and Dean turned to lead Methos around to the back of the house. Finally, Dean pointed to the ground and Methos gave him an incredulous look.

“You buried Death’s ring?”

“All of them, actually.”

Methos felt just a little bit of admiration for him. It wasn’t like anyone was looking to go looking for such powerful artefacts in a patch of dirt in a salvage yard, even if that salvage yard did belong to Bobby Singer. 

Methos took out a knife and began to dig at the ground until he hit metal. Brushing the dirt away with his fingers he came across Death’s ring, it’s bright white stone unstained by the dirt. Hesitantly, he picked it up and held the ring in his palm, the white stone and metal cool against his skin. The idea that people could associate Death with black seemed absurd when it had always been white to him. He curled his fingers around it, unable to convince himself to put it on just yet. 

-

“You sure this is wise?” Bobby asked, coming to stand next to Dean as he watched Adam or Azrael or whoever he was digging where they’d buried the rings.

“No,” Dean said.

“Why’s he need it?”

Dean shrugged.

“This is going to bite us in the ass, isn’t it?” Bobby asked with a sigh. He made a note to buy some more salt and St John’s Wart, too, when he went into town for his shopping.

“Probably.”

“Why are you doing this, again?”

“Because I think he’s the original owner.”

It went unspoken that it probably wouldn’t be good to challenge Adam on that ownership or keep him from the ring. 

“Right,” Bobby said, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “You do always end up neck deep in it, don’t you, boy?”

“I usually get myself out of it, too,” Dean said, a little bitterly, and Bobby knew there were a number of ghosts, metaphorical at least, at Dean’s back while he walked through everything more or less unscathed. But he was hardly the only one of his team like that and Bobby had hope that maybe that would make the difference.

Adam approached them, right hand in a white-knuckle grip and Bobby didn’t really want to know the true power of the things he’d had buried in his backyard. He’d leave playing around with that kind of thing to Dean and his cohorts.

“Time to go,” Adam said tightly.

Bobby gave Dean a pat on the shoulder and Dean nodded to him before Cas gripped the two men and they disappeared with a flutter of feathers.

-

Lindsey bit back a grimace, the rope chafing against his skin as he tried to work it loose. On the floor behind him, Kronos did the same. An angel stood across the plain, white room, staring at them unblinkingly. Adam and Castiel had been right about the angels being overly confident. They hadn’t bothered to search either of them beyond looking for weapons, just as Adam and Castiel had said. Apparently angels really were just that arrogant.

“They’re going to try to swap us for Adam,” Kronos scoffed, hesitating only a moment over the name. “It’ll never work.”

“Why do you say that?” Lindsey asked.

“Because he knows better,” Kronos said. “And he’s nothing if not pragmatic.”

Lindsey grunted vaguely, not entirely sure that was true. For the most part, Adam was pragmatic and absolutely would do whatever was necessary to ensure the success of whatever ends he sought, but his choice what that was often carried a decidedly emotional undertone. Ensuring the safety of his friends often warred with self-preservation and won as far as Lindsey could see. 

“You don’t agree,” Kronos said, sounding surprised. “He is good at making people believe whatever he wants.”

Lindsey had to bite his cheek to keep from asking which of them seemed least sure about Adam’s character. He felt the ropes give way and he tapped Kronos’ wrist. 

“Hey!” Kronos said, distracting the angel. “You got anything to do around here? At least Hell has entertainment.”

“Silence, demon,” the angel told him.

So, that wasn’t the method of distraction Lindsey would have chosen, but it seemed to have worked. 

“Make me,” Kronos challenged and Lindsey could hear the fierce delight in his voice. If Kronos found it fun to go after things that were more likely than not to kill them, then he was probably going to fit in fine. Kronos shifted until he was on his knees, blocking more of Lindsey from the angel’s sight.

Lindsey slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a marker. Discretely, he uncapped it and slid it into his palm, ready to start writing as soon as the angel’s attention was entirely off of him. 

“You know, I’ve met demons with more integrity than I’ve seen from your lot,” Kronos continued and Lindsey winced. The angel strode forward and grabbed Kronos by his throat, raising him until his feet were off the ground.

Lindsey didn’t bother to waste any time with trying to help Kronos, though he was coming to appreciate that Kronos might have some redeeming qualities. If nothing else, he was clearly devoted to Adam’s wellbeing. 

He started scrawling symbols on the floor, adjusting them to the specifics of the concealment the angels had done on their location. It would have been impossible to pinpoint this place from outside, but working from inside gave him a distinct advantage when all he had to do was breach the security long enough to get a signal out. Though he couldn’t say he entirely appreciated being the only one who could do it. The angels weren’t exactly gentle when they went after mortals. Or demons it seemed, he thought as Kronos went flying into the wall, the angel stalking after him.

It was going to take another few minutes, but he was almost there, he’d just about pushed through the barrier.

-

Tony watched Adam pull on a grey T-shirt a shade lighter than his pale grey jeans. Adam held his white hoodie for a long moment, taking a deep breath before he pulled it over his head and Tony realised there was a lot more to that act than he was seeing, but he couldn’t begin to guess what. It felt like Adam was dressing for war and Tony figured that was true enough, but his choice of armour was a little strange to Tony.

“Where’s a pale horse when you need one,” Adam said, looking up to meet Tony’s eyes. Adam’s tone was joking even as his mouth was set in a hard line and Tony shivered at the implication. This wasn’t Adam and Tony wondered what name he went by, how many hundreds of them, thousands even, Adam must have gone by over the years. How many people must he have been, how much must he have experienced.

“I think I understand,” Tony said finally, “who you are.”

Sharp, indifferent eyes snapped to his and Adam gave a sardonic twist of his mouth.

“Going to tell me I’m not that man anymore?” he asked, eyebrow raised in mocking question.

“No,” Tony said and it was enough to make Adam pause. “You’re still that man. You’ll always be that man.”

“Is this the part where you tell me we’re through?” Adam asked, folding his arms. 

Tony shrugged.

“I guess that’s up to you,” Tony told him, figuring that all of this had come out to some degree with other people and they hadn’t reacted very well. 

“I know you’re still the man who did those things,” Tony continued. “And, while I can’t even begin to imagine what it would take to commit those acts, I have never shied away from making use of those skills when necessary. Even when I suspected where they might have come from. But that’s still not who you are.”

He looked to Adam who was watching him intently, like he was something to be investigated, or dissected. 

“There are other men, too. Doctors, investigators, researchers. You’re all these things and more and we need you because of it.”

“Good to know I’m useful.”

Tony smiled a little at the dry tone.

“Who else would we get to patch us up when trying to explain to the ER doctors that a ghoul tried to eat your flesh while you were still alive seems a little crazy?” Tony asked. Adam smiled back, amusement hiding in his eyes. 

“You’re still one of us, that hasn’t changed,” Tony told him.

Castiel appeared in the doorway. 

“Lindsey has given us the location,” he said. Adam nodded, expression so carefully blank that Tony ached at the sight of it.

“What are you going to do now?” Tony asked.

“Become Death.”

Adam slid on the ring and, though Tony knew nothing had really changed, the atmosphere felt different, chilled somehow, and the room smaller. Adam felt bigger, like something old and powerful was bursting to crawl its way out of his skin. This, Tony knew, was Azrael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, for future reference, how do you guys feel about Spike/Lindsey? I'm open to other suggestions, too.
> 
> Update: Now with a poll. Vote here: http://shade-shifter.livejournal.com/61501.html
> 
> And if you have any suggestions for things you want to see in the series, please go here: http://shade-shifter.livejournal.com/61876.html


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel watched Azrael strap his sword to his waist, in awe of the oldest of them all. His vessel had never seemed small exactly, or even fragile, but now his body barely contained his vast form. 

“So that’s Azrael, huh?” Dean said. There was no reverence in his voice, no understanding of the rarity of what he was being allowed to see, but Castiel could see concern in the way Dean’s gaze kept cutting to Azrael even as he prepared for war himself.

“Yes.”

“What about Adam?”

Castiel frowned, not understanding the question. Adam had always been Azrael. Dean turned to look Castiel square in the eye.

“Do we get Adam back after this?” Dean asked, resentment barely covering the weariness and the grief that was never far from the surface. “You know, the guy who drinks beer and occasionally chops off other guys’ heads.”

“Adam and Azrael are one.”

“Adam’s sense of humour needs work, sure, but that guy,” Dean said, gesturing vaguely at Azrael, “wouldn’t know how to crack a smile even if someone did a Joker on him.”

Castiel had no idea what that meant, but he thought he might understand what Dean meant. It was easier these days, since he’d stopped listening to the words and tried to read the intent instead.

“I do not know,” Castiel admitted. “If we succeed in destroying Raphael, he will be the last archangel.”

“No offense,” Dean began before he shook his head. “Actually, probably a lot of offense, but this is your family’s fault. God went away for the weekend and they threw a party and trashed the house. It’s up to them to put things right, not us, not Adam, not when they threw him away.”

Castiel sighed. It was not nearly so simple but then, despite not understanding the nuances of Heaven, Dean had ultimately not often been wrong. He was one of the few things on which Castiel could still depend.

“Have you considered that since Azrael’s the Angel of Death...” Castiel began hesitantly and Dean cut him off quickly.

“Don’t,” Dean said, jabbing him in the chest. “Don’t even think it.”

“Dean?” Castiel asked, surprised that Dean wouldn't even consider the possibility of getting Sam back. 

“No,” Dean said firmly. “I’m not going to make that choice, not between Adam and Sam.”

Castiel was about to say something, anything, he wasn’t sure what, he hardly ever knew with Dean, but he was interrupted by Azrael.

“We leave now,” Azrael said and Castiel could see the silhouette of four thousand wings stretched out behind him a moment before he disappeared. Castiel quickly grabbed Dean and Tony and followed.

-

Methos appeared at the location to see Kronos on his knees, wheezing a little, with an angel standing above him, sword raised. Methos didn’t bother to draw his own sword. He simply gestured with a hand and the angel exploded. Lindsey rose from where he’d been knocked back during the struggle and went to stand with them.

“Perfect timing as always, brother,” Kronos said, dropping to rest on all fours for a moment before he climbed slowly to his feet. He wiped the back of a hand across his mouth, smearing blood as he went. “You do know I’m going to be milking this for centuries, right?” 

Methos turned away from him, to one of the walls, and a door appeared. It swung open silently and Methos strode through. Raphael was near, he could sense it, like a beacon, drawing him closer. He drew his sword and waded in amongst the angels gathered. They parted before him, none of them threatening him, not when he could cut them down with a thought.

“Raphael!” Methos said, not loudly but it carried.

“Azrael,” Raphael returned, calmly. 

“I am here,” Methos told him. The universe stretched out around him, only slightly less finite than him. How long had it been since he felt his wings flex and settle around him? How long since he had held the fate of this little world in his hand? Raphael looked through his human shell to the being within.

"We were as brothers once, you and I," Raphael said. "You know it had to be done."

Methos tilted his head as he watched Raphael who met his gaze without flinching. There were very few who could manage that and most were just too foolish to know better. 

"You forget, brother, that I'm not just the Angel of Death," Methos told him, cold and unyielding. "I'm also the Angel of Retribution."

“Retribution? Is that what you call the wholesale slaughter of entire villages?”

Methos said nothing. Death did not need to be justified. Death was.

“He killed thousands, tens of thousands,” Raphael said, looking to Tony and his team, who had come to stand at Methos’ back. Dean shrugged.

“I helped start the apocalypse.”

“I ensured the freedom of a lot of really bad people so they could continue to commit atrocities,” Lindsey said. 

They all turned to Tony who shrugged as well.

“I just sign the performance reviews,” Tony said, then sighed. “This one’s going to be a bitch to report.”

Raphael scoffed. 

“You side with one half-fallen angel and one who has already been defeated once.”

“I have my own allies,” Castiel said and a number of other angels appeared amongst those already gathered.

Methos shifted his stance, sword raised and ready.

“There is no Michael to hold me down, this time,” he said and launched himself at Raphael who barely had time to defend himself. Their swords clashed, blades sliding against each other. Methos had the advantage of having fought fairly consistently over the last 5000 years whereas Raphael had been delivering messages and watching over prophets.

Methos spun, disengaging his sword and kicking Raphael in the back of the knee. Raphael’s knee buckled but he quickly recovered, sword swinging to clash with Methos’ again. Methos parried, ignoring the judder that shuddered down his arm, and turned into Raphael guard, scoring a shallow cut along his side, but letting his blade dig into Raphael’s shoulder.

Raphael cried out, hand clutching at his shoulder, his sword hanging loosely in his grasp, before he gritted his teeth and firmed up his grasp. There was a shift then and Methos knew that fight had become serious. They collided and the Earth rumbled beneath their feet and the sky split across with lightning before thunder boomed around them. 

The mortals fought side-by-side, barely keeping the angels at bay and falling further back with each second. Castile and his army managed to prevent the worst of the injuries from occurring but it would soon not be enough.

Methos felt his wings stretch behind him and his skin grew chilled as he gathered his power to him. As a human, he’d never liked the cold, but this felt like embracing an old friend, like coming home. When he met Raphael again, Raphael was forced to stagger back under his assault. 

“You should have left me in peace,” Methos said, shifting his grip on his sword and plunging it into Raphael’s stomach. Raphael sank to his knees and Methos rested the tip of his sword to Raphael’s neck. Slowly, the angels around them stopped fighting to watch. 

“It never had to come to this,” Raphael said.

“You made it this way,” Methos replied and raised his sword before bringing it down in a smooth stroke. Raphael’s head rolled before coming to a stop. His body slumped to the ground.

“Come after them again and I will see you all burn,” Methos promised.

-

Kronos breathed heavily as the angels around them disappeared one by one, defeated. Methos stood, bloody sword held loosely in one hand, white clothes unmarked. For a moment, Kronos thought he saw the shadow of wings stretched out behind Methos before the light flickered and they disappeared.

“Methos,” Kronos said, not caring for once if the others heard the name or not. It hardly mattered now. “It’s over now, Methos.”

Methos looked at him blankly and, for a dreadful moment, Kronos wondered if he was gone entirely before the Immortal-turned-angel sighed, shoulders drooping wearily.

“There is no end to Death.”

“Brother,” Kronos said, drawing closer when Methos didn’t move, not even to sheath his sword. “Methos.”

“You were right,” Methos said eventually, looking up into a distance Kronos couldn’t see. “I always did fight myself.”

“It wasn’t yourself you were fighting,” Kronos said, finally admitting it to himself. “It was me.”

“I... have to go,” Methos said, breathing in deeply and drawing himself up.

“We’re bound by blood and death, you and I,” Kronos said, hand resting at the point where neck met shoulder, his thumb caressing the smooth skin above Methos’ clavicle, even as he tried to ignore the chill that was sinking into his bones. “And love... We belong to each other.” For a brief moment, it seemed like Methos relaxed, leaning into his touch before he shook off Kronos’ grip. 

“There are duties to which I must attend,” Methos said and he was gone in a flutter of wings that left silence in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a say in who I end up pairing Lindsey with, please vote: http://shade-shifter.livejournal.com/61501.html
> 
> Or let me know if there’s something you want to see in this series: http://shade-shifter.livejournal.com/61876.html
> 
> Also, apparently I’ve written 37000 words in the past two weeks... Nanowrimo’s actually looking possible this year.


	10. Chapter 10

Methos stood in the middle of an empty field, the body of an unconscious man on the ground before him. Death stood before him, reaching out, but not quite touching him.

“You do not have to accept this duty now,” Death told him. “Let it go.”

“No.”

“It is unavoidable,” Death admitted, expression a study of sympathy, “but you do not have to hasten the inevitable.”

“Not yet,” Methos ground out, brow drawn down as he focused on the body at his feet. 

Memories were complicated things, tied to so many emotions and senses that isolating them was almost impossible. But Methos had time and patience. He’d spent hours, days, linking triggers to irrelevant memories, trying to divert any possible recollection of Hell, Lucifer and Michael, but he knew it could never be perfect. 

When he was finally done, Death held out his hand and Methos wasted no time in slipping the ring off his finger and dropping it into Death’s waiting hand. Suddenly, his perception shifted to just his senses and the world narrowed to the field in which they stood. His skin felt too tight and he shivered at the cool morning air. 

"Samuel Winchester I understand, but the other?" Death asked, because Methos had done more than a little renegotiating of the natural order.

"What are you going to do? Kill me?" Methos asked with a shrug, trying for a semblance of his usual nonchalance. Death looked at him steadily and he finally shrugged, looking away. He felt washed out and hollow, cold and empty.

"That is not a fate either of us would relish."

Death was right, he knew; to become fully what he once was, his human body would have to die. The ultimate failsafe.

“No.”

“Now that the ring is back in my possession, it is unlikely a situation as this will arise again,” Death assured him. Methos nodded, folding his arms close to him. “They will be looking to you to lead them, now.”

“Well, they can damn well keep looking,” Methos snapped with some of his usual fire. 

“Take care of yourself, Azrael,” Death told him and Methos nodded his head briefly.

“I always do, Grim.”

Death disappeared and Methos bent down to scoop an unconscious Sam into his arms.

“Castiel!”

-

Dean was just wondering where Castiel had disappeared off to, when there was a yelled “Who the hell are you!” through the door and Dean opened it to see Castiel looking pleased with himself. Adam stood beyond him with his arms folded, staring impassively at Sammy. There was no ring on Adam’s finger.

“Thank you,” Dean said, clapping Adam on the shoulder, unable to fully express the profundity of his emotions. Adam nodded solemnly and copied Dean’s action before ducking into the house. Dean turned to Sammy who still looked utterly confused.

“Last thing I remember, I was saying yes to Lucifer...” Sam trailing off.

“You did it,” Dean told him. “You stopped Lucifer.”

“I did?”

Dean couldn’t help himself, he drew Sam into a tight embrace, terrified he was going to disappear at any moment.

“You’ve been gone a long time, Sammy.”

“How am I back?” Sam asked, pulling away to hold Dean at arm’s length and look at him critically. “Did you...?”

“It helps to have the Angel of Death on speed dial,” Dean said, shrugging.

“The Angel of Death? As in the actual Angel of Death?”

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean said, arm around his shoulders like he was never going to let go. There would be plenty of time for Sam to interrogate him later. “You should meet Lindsey. He used to be a lawyer and now he hunts demons.”

“Oh my god,” Sam said, looking at Dean incredulously. “You replaced me. You actually replaced me.”

“Technically, he was on the team first.”

“Team!?” 

Dean shrugged, not sure how to explain how he’d got roped into the whole team thing.

“Don’t let DiNozzo’s charming smile fool you. That man could sell you your own kidneys and make you believe he was doing you a favour.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Sam laughed loudly until Dean pulled out his badge and Sam inspected it to see that it was actually real.

“You stole this, right?” Sam asked and Dean shook his head.

“I have to fill out reports and everything.”

“No one calls the two-line blurbs you hand in ‘reports’, Winchester,” Tony yelled from the other room.

“You went straight! When did you go straight?”

“After...” Dean began before he looked away. “After.”

“Right,” Sam said, not pushing him on a chick-flick moment, before he frowned thoughtfully. “How did you pass the psych eval?”

“Come on,” Dean said, ignoring him. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

-

Kronos grabbed Methos before the others could have their turn with him and dragged him out to Tony’s balcony. 

“You came back,” Kronos said, digging his hands into Methos’ hair and pulling him into a kiss. Methos was listless a moment before he fisted his hands in Kronos’ shirt and kissed back fervently, all desperation and longing. He rested his forehead to Kronos’.

“We’re bound together, you and I,” Methos said. He looked haunted and weary, and there was a fine tremble shivering across his body, though the day was warm and he was wearing three layers of clothing. Kronos pulled him close and Methos buried his face in the crook of Kronos’ neck.

“I suppose you’re going to insist on going back to that little team of yours,” Kronos said, running his fingers through Methos’ hair.

“I need to,” Methos said and a shudder wracked his body. Kronos knew that right now Methos needed the reassurance that he was human, that this changed nothing, and Kronos couldn’t provide that, but maybe the team could.

“I suppose they aren’t entirely objectionable,” Kronos conceded. Methos snorted a brief laugh and Kronos found himself smiling.

-

When Adam re-entered, Tony watched him with worried eyes, but didn’t crowd him, no matter how much he wanted to. Kronos seemed to be doing that enough for everyone. Instead, he slid a beer across the table to where Adam and Kronos settled.

“I think there might be a game on,” Tony told him. Tony had no clue which one, but there was always a game of some sort. He breathed out a long, relieved breath and slid the papers on which they’d been drawing up their plans to get Adam back out of the way. 

Adam gave him a hint of a mischievous smile, a mere shadow of what it should have been, when he twisted the top off the bottle and flicked the cap back behind the chair. Tony was always finding them in the strangest places and he couldn’t help but smile a little fondly. It was good to have them all together again. 

“What are you going to do now?” Lindsey asked Sam, looking to where the two brothers had settled near Lindsey. Dean’s eyes widened a little and his grip on the chair arm became white-knuckled.

“I don’t know. I don’t really want to go back to hunting... and I hear Georgetown has a good law program,” Sam said and Tony was sure it was to stave off Dean’s imminent crisis, but Sam looked happy at the prospect and that apparently was enough for Dean. Besides, Georgetown wasn’t too far away and Castiel made travel for Dean almost instantaneous.

“I know someone in the department there,” Lindsey offered.

“There’ll be plenty of time to think about that later,” Dean said firmly and the subject was changed.

“Crawford’s going to want answers,” Adam said, sounding tired. He looked pale and Tony hated to imagine what it must have been like.

Tony was reluctant to admit it, but Adam was right. Maybe he could just say they’d got Adam back from the militia a second time. As long as there was something halfway believable, Crawford would let the matter drop, especially when no one had been arrested and there was no trial hanging on their evidence.

“He’ll understand,” Tony told him.

All wasn’t right with the world, Tony thought, but just maybe it was getting there.

-

Somewhere lonely and barren, where a hotel used to stand, Gabriel sat up with a gasp and pressed a hand to the whole and smooth skin of his chest. The only difference was a small, black scythe over his heart. He scowled. Azrael really needed a new sense of humour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s my ridiculously happy ending alternative to Supernatural season 6. Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented and gave such awesome feedback. You inspired me to keep writing even when I should have been working on other things. :D
> 
> Oh, and there’ll also be a short sequel in which Sam realises Dean’s not nearly as good at letting him move on as he seems to be.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Finding Home Banner (Destiel)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129040) by [TouchoftheWind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TouchoftheWind/pseuds/TouchoftheWind)
  * [Places of Exile Banner (Kronos/Methos)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136056) by [TouchoftheWind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TouchoftheWind/pseuds/TouchoftheWind)




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